


All Along

by ShyTortise



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abuse of italics, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley has no shame, Gen, Getting Together, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Just an excuse to write some of the love I think the angel has for his demon, Love Letters, M/M, Pining through the ages, What if the pine tree was an angel all along?, abuse of ellipses, crammed into about a week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21601609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyTortise/pseuds/ShyTortise
Summary: It begins with a letter. It continues with a reading binge. It ends with three kisses.When the End doesn't, Aziraphale finds he's missing letters he's written and hidden.When the Antichrist resets everything, Crowley finds a box in his closet and envelopes with his name on them.When the angel and demon talk, there are kisses.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 108





	All Along

**Author's Note:**

> minor edits

_Do you know my dear, you have been carved on my heart since Eden. You spoke to me as an equal, a rather unlikable one perhaps, but as a being deserving of some sort of courtesy. I offered my wing because it was unthinkable I should do otherwise. How could I let the first being to see me, truly see me: sharp edges and pricking points tucked under a layer of wishful thinking, suffer the indignity of getting wet?_

_I have loved you since The Flood. When you hissed at me, voicing my own doubts and questions as if you were laying my soul bare, the heat of your ire cauterizing my weakness; then in mercy turning your gaze to those you could save, would save._

_Mercy, not a quality I would expect from a demon of your caliber. One who delights in winding humans up so tight they snap, lashing out at each other. Of course I'm no better. I'm simply sanctioned in my tightening of human soulcoils. Well, I was._

_As I write this I can see through the window, at least six humans have stopped to try and pick up the pound coin you stuck to the pavement last night. Most swore, along with the people behind them as they had to move around, but there was a darling couple who laughed._

_My dear I would give anything to hear you laugh throughout the rest of eternity._

_I told you there was no 'our side', because for me there has only ever been you. I told you I didn't like you because I wanted you to leave. I wanted you safe and away. My heart chased you as you left and it has never returned, or forgiven me for that moment. Nor should it truly, lying to you was foolish. I wanted to fix things. I could feel the softness I'd worked so hard to accumulate, that you had helped me nurture under the guise of tempting me to sloth and gluttony, melting away. I could feel my edges and points, the anger and urge to take my blade in hand, to stand as I was made to, before the enemies of humankind...but that is not what they need, not what Free Will requires._

_I have come to realize that_ I _am not what humanity needs._

_It isn't a new realization my dear, I can practically see you making that face. The past week has simply reinforced my belief that the Lord's 'hands off' policy is part of Her plan._

_I can see you rolling your eyes at me darling._

_You're probably wondering about the point. I'm afraid I don't have one. I simply wanted to talk to you and you haven't answered your telephone in days._

_I must confess that on the third day I did pop around to make sure you were alright. Honestly Crowley sleeping on the ceiling can't be good for your back. You have a perfectly fine mattress, there's no need to cocoon yourself like a butterfly. Or as I'm sure you'll say; like a very evil bat._

_I love you, please wake up soon._

_~A_

He folded the thick cream colored paper neatly, sliding it into an envelope. The process of writing Crowley's name and address was meditative, and he opened the hidden drawer in his desk to tuck it away with the rest, and noticed that the rest were not where they should be. He was not fully conscious of his reaction until he felt his wings brush the ceiling, his many eyes darting around to try and find millenia worth of love poured into parchment. Parchment that had burned with his shop no doubt.

He shrank back into his corporation, fighting the urge to cry. He had never planned on giving them to Crowley, but he'd thought perhaps now that they were both free of expectation he might broach the topic gently. Perhaps work himself up to admitting he loved the demon more than anything else in the world. But now they were gone, as if they'd never existed. It felt like a bad omen.

The door to his shop opened, and a nightmare's worth of humans bustled in. Tourists by the looks of them, or perhaps a college class abroad. He closed the drawer with a snap and stood, trying to make his smile more welcoming, less brittle. The letter sat on the desk, waiting.

As the angel turned his attention to making sure none of his precious collection found its way into the wrong hands, the letter found itself among its fellows. No longer on a sunwarm desk, it lay on obsidian Egyptian cotton.

* * *

Crowley had been immediately suspicious of the wooden box he'd discovered in his closet. Made of cheap balsa wood with block letters spelling 'Sweet Memories' on the lid; It looked like something from the kitschy stores in the early 1900’s he’d claimed credit for.

Something a pair of doting human parents might keep precious photos in.

To be fair the Antichrist had been through an almost literal hell of a week, and as a demon Crowley felt honorbound to see what the little beast had left to get back at him.

He sat on his bed and flicked the lid off, expecting to see embarrassing photos, or trinkets. He hadn't expected what looked to be hundreds of letters, all with the same leaning handwriting of someone whose first written language had been cuneiform, and all addressed to him.

He didn't bother taking more than a moment to justify opening them. His name was on them so... technically they were his. He was allowed to read them, practically obligated really.

He picked one at random, began to read, and almost immediately had to stop.

_Darling, you are the loveliest being I have ever laid eyes on._

Crowley took an unneeded breath, willing it not to shake as he exhaled and continued to read.

_Please keep that in mind, because I must tell you that your current hairstyle is atrocious. I am aware that the giant wigs are all the rage among nobility, likely inspired by your wicked wiles-_

He frowned and glanced at the corner, searching for a date. 1688. Crowley felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The wigs _had_ been one of his. Great for spreading pain and misery.

_-but a three foot monstrosity with live birds simply does not compliment your face or figure. I am honestly surprised you could tolerate it. Though you have always been one for throwing yourself into your work. It is one of the many things I adore about you._

What the hell was the angel on about? He set the letter aside and took out another, this one dated 1793.

_Sometimes I wonder if perhaps I am some kind of masochist. Surely I wouldn’t crave the sweet agony that merely the sight of you sends rushing through me if I were not. I wasn't just strolling along when they grabbed me, there was a boy, he reminded me of you. A gangly young thing, all limbs and nervous energy trying to explain to some human in a sash that just because he wasn't waving a blood stained sword didn't mean he wasn't working for The Cause. Of course we both know that beings in power tend to frown on actions that aren't immediately quantifiable. I suppose I should have used a miracle, but Gabriel-_

_I don't think I can ever really explain my fear of Gabriel to you darling, I cannot explain it even to myself. He has not laid a hand on me and yet merely his presence is enough to reduce me to a flinching mess. Perhaps it is simply a matter of accepting pain and turning it into strength. You have always been stronger in that regard my dear._

_\- Gabriel had just finished giving me quite the dressing down in front of the other Principalities for frivolous, useless, miracles. You know, the usual. Blessings of good health, safe travels, keeping buildings warm in the cold and damp, there was one for a safe birthing. Gabriel has always said I must leave the Humans to God's Plan, but what I think of that load of bollocks I have already told you my dearest. But back to the boy and my foolishly stepping in to try and protect him. I say try, for he already had a fist of dirt ready, on his toes to flee. Of course I made for a rather more tempting target, your influence I'm sure my darling, after all the lessons from our Arrangement-_

Crowley looked at the box, almost overflowing with letters and began to dig, sorting them so he could start with the oldest and work his way forwards. He felt a small twinge of guilt, clearly Aziraphale had never meant for him to see these, but honestly, why write them then? And Adam had put them here, in his flat, in his closet even; and he was fairly sure an eleven year old, even one raised in such a staid place as Tadfield, knew what ‘in the closet’ meant. He smothered the feeling, instead choosing to revel in the knowledge that Aziraphale loved him. Loved _him_! For decades he’d wondered, the soft not yet of ‘you go too fast for me’ leashing his desires and actions. But this, this was food to a starving man.

He carefully picked up the oldest piece of paper, the letter a short scrawl in Ottoman Turkish, and began to read.

From odes to his beauty during the wars in Egypt, to praise for his style and gentle mockery of his dislike of horses in London and France...with a few anecdotes about how lovely the mediterrainian was and wouldn’t he like to come back to Rome, perhaps to try oysters again. Crowley felt himself tense as he realized the year the smudged mess of an envelope that was next represented. He growled and forced himself to open it. He was a _demon_ for someone’s sake!

_I should have known darling, ~~I thought you-~~_

_I ~~thought we-~~ _

_Why? Insurance for what? When you can’t take the pain anymore? When you believe no one needs you even as I crave every moment I can steal to simply gaze at you? I need you! ~~Don’t leave me, please!~~ Even if all the humans vowed themselves to Hell tomorrow and you were made obsolete I would need you. _

_~~Don’t leave me, please darling~~ _

_please_

_Please Crowley I love you_

~~_please_ ~~

He ripped his gaze away from the old water stains and the image in his mind of Aziraphale clutching his hair as his pen scraped off the paper. Stupid angel. As if he would destroy himself. No, he’d live out of spite, let God cast him out, let the other demons think he was a flash bastard with no substance, he’d live to spit on them all...as long as he had Aziraphale he didn’t need anyone else. He realized he was crying and rubbed at his eyes, freezing as he heard the soft click of his front door.

“Crowley? Are you alright dear boy?” 

He was fucked. The letters were spread out all over his duvet, and he’d only read two thirds of them! Thinking fast he rolled everything, including himself, up in the thick blanket and scrambled up the wall to the ceiling, pretending to be asleep. It seemed as if every soft crinkle of paper was as loud as a building demolition as the sound of oxfords on marble came closer to his bedroom.

“Crowley?” He forced himself not to hold his breath as he felt Aziraphale step into his room. The angel must have seen him because he let out a huff. “Really my dear, the ceiling?” But his voice was...soft, fond. How would he sound if he actually called Crowley dearest and darling? No he needed to focus on pretending to be asleep. “Have pleasant dreams.” Crowley risked poking his head out as he felt Aziraphale move back out into his flat, frowning as the angel stopped in his atrium, and the soft wssh of the mister floated in the silence.

Why the hell was the angel watering his plants? Why had he shown up at all? Crowley wiggled around a bit to pull out his phone and nearly dropped it. Three days, and six missed calls. The guilt was back, worming its way through his gut; he ignored the way it twisted and curled. He wasn’t going to stop, not until he’d read all of them. Aziraphale had patience and control. Crowley had very little of either, and he was going to stretch them to the limit to hoard every precious word.

Once the angel had gone back to his bookshop Crowley clambered down the wall, put the duvet turned makeshift mail bag back on the bed and picked up where he’d left off. There were a few that barely even counted as postcards, just saying Aziraphale still loved him, that he was missed. The substance returned when Aziraphale discovered the community thriving in Soho.

_They call me Mary, at my club. Do you think she would have approved darling? I feel as if they have seen me without truly understanding me. To them I am Virgin Mary, kind but aloof. She was sweet at times yes, but I remember Miriam that day. I remember catching her fist so she would not break her fingers on my jaw, I remember the kicks and scratches as she railed at me for letting her boy, her lovely little Yeshua die._

_They call me Mary and I think of fire, the wrath of a Guardian denied their rightful duty. I’m not sure I’m deserving of such a strong moniker. You would have helped me come up with a better one I’m sure._

_I miss you._

_I have been trying to keep your plants alive, but I can only do so much without using miracles. I overwatered your Orchids I’m afraid. I will go to purchase new ones with you, if you will only wake up._

_Please Crowley, I’m sorry. I know we must have been talking at cross purposes but please come back to me._

_I can survive without you but my dearest love I cannot **live** . _

The next twenty or so ended similarly though they all began with different topics. His frustrations with the narrow minded beings in power, the rumblings of unrest in the rest of Europe, one made a valiant attempt at romantic limericks that had Crowley blushing and laughing from embarrassment, though whether he was embarrassed on the angel’s behalf, or that such saccharine words were directed at him was up in the air. 

_Well my dear, I’ve given you what you want. Wrapped in my colors, cap screwed on tight. Think of me when it all gets to be too much, come to me, not to the bottle._

_Oh lord I sound like those teetotalers from the colonies don’t I? What was their chant again, ‘lips that touch wine shall never touch mine’? Oh darling I’d drink from your lips, wine and kisses both._

_Anything you want my dearest, I’d give it all to you. Tell me you want me to storm Hell, I’ll do it. Tell me to abandon Heaven, I will. But please don’t leave me alone for eternity._

“You stupid...how are you so damn clever about anything, _everything_ , else?” Crowley flicked his tongue out to taste the faint odor of wine and saltwater. He remembered that night, probably would have even without having his heart ripped out, gently kissed, then left on the dashboard. He’d never actually believed that Aziraphale had expected him to commit suicide until that moment. He’d always thought it was just the idea of giving a demon something holy that was ruffling the angel’s feathers, but the tartan on the thermos, the colors and the simple act of handing it over in person instead of simply miracling it with a note...

The tone of the letters shifted slowly, as it became obvious Crowley wasn’t planning to off himself. The demon found he was reading about events he’d been present for, and that Aziraphale was an even better actor than he’d ever given the angel credit for. How had he not noticed those ocean deep eyes caressing his face, trailing along his fingers and hips? He’d been watching so closely! Every little twitch of those cloud soft cheeks, every bounce of the cosmic latte curls; how had he not seen he was being watched in turn?

_Envy does not become me. But I can’t help it when you hold Warlock so close, when he is allowed to hug you, hold your hand in public, address you so casually._

_Perhaps I could have a name of my own for you. Anthony? Ashtoreth? My dearest Luna, my darling Stella. My Diane. No. They don’t quite fit you do they dearest? My Radiant Eclipse, Black Hole of My Heart pulling me ever closer with no escape where moving even an inch closer to you seems to take me eons._

_No, that’s not your fault. It’s mine. Coward, thats me. Watching from the garden, ~~perhaps The Garden, maybe I never left~~ as you grow and adapt, leaving me to stand like...something that stands and doesn’t move. Statue? No, you like those, appreciate the skill that created them. I know you don’t approve of me, of my clothes and habits. _

_I’m sorry my dear, I’m too maudlin tonight, it’s young Warlock’s sixth birthday and all I can think of is-_

_No. Enough. I love you, I love you more than anything my dear, if you never believe another word I speak please believe that. And I will move the Celestial Spheres to make sure we survive this, no matter what._

He remembered that birthday, vaguely. He’d gotten Warlock a stuffed t-rex, Aziraphale had gifted the boy a set of modeling clay. Crowley had smirked and asked if he wanted the little beast to learn the joys of creation. A little dig, not meant to be a serious accusation of blasphemy, but the angel had gone stiff, jaw clenched saying he’d hoped it would teach Warlock the value of being gentle, of taking his time, to learn how destruction is also part of growth and creation without having to be violent. And then he’d left. Spent the rest of the weekend only the Almighty knew where, and returned on Monday as if nothing was wrong.

“What the hell angel, when have I ever said I don’t approve of you? When?” He felt slighted, how could Aziraphale be so bloody _blind_? He threw the letter onto his pillow and rubbed his face. That had been the last one. 

A chill ran down his spine and a cream envelope appeared on his bed. 

It _had_ been the last one.

“Hello…” Crowley picked the rich cream parchment up carefully, tasting the air of the bookshop, dust and ink, Aziraphale’s cologne. “Still writing them? Silly bastard, why not just tell me now?” He flipped the envelope open and slid the letter out.

_Do you know my dear, you have been carved on my heart since Eden._

He let the words wash over him as if the angel were speaking them, grinning as his eyes skimmed over the part about his coin on the pavement. The grin faded. Something about the words seemed familiar, rang a warning bell in his mind. He rummaged through the other letters with his free hand until he found the right one.

_I need you! ~~Don’t leave me, please~~! Even if all the humans vowed themselves to Hell tomorrow and you were made obsolete I would need you. _

~~_Don’t leave me, please darling_ ~~

He swallowed hard, hands shaking as he turned his attention back to the newest letter.

_I could feel my edges and points, the anger and urge to take my blade in hand, to stand as I was made to, before the enemies of humankind...but that is not what they need, not what Free Will requires._

_I have come to realize that_ I _am_ _not what humanity needs._

“Fuck!” He scrambled out of the bed and snapped.

* * *

Aziraphale massaged his temples. He couldn’t bring himself to feel too bad about the sale, it had been a third edition Jane Austen and it had been obvious the professor the students had pooled their money for would care for it the way it deserved. And yet he couldn’t help but feel that even his books were abandoning him, no matter that the very thought was foolish. Crowley hadn’t abandoned him, the demon was simply sleeping. A well deserved rest honestly, he’d been wound so tightly for so long. He had nothing to do, truly, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit still.

Somehow his letters, the outpouring of thousands of years of affection, had vanished and he hadn’t sensed a blasted thing. It might have been the Archangels, but Crowley hadn’t mentioned them being used at his attempted execution, and the demons hadn’t made any use of them if they’d had them. He could only assume they’d been lost in the fire and that hurt more than he was willing to admit.

He caught sight of an unlit candle and pursed his lips. There was one way to pass the time. Cleaning without miracles was hard work, and would keep his mind off...everything. 

“AZIRAPHALE!”

He did not scream, that would have required breath and he had none as Crowley appeared in the middle of his bookshop looking as if the world was ending all over again. Instead he choked on an inhale and staggered to his feet.

“Crowley? What the devil-”

“Don’t, angel! Don’t!” He yelped as he was pulled into a crushing embrace, Crowley holding him much like the serpent Aziraphale often called him.

“Don’t what dear boy? What’s the matter?” Aziraphale wrapped one arm around Crowley’s waist, the other going up to stroke his hair, gently smoothing the dark ruffled locks, enjoying the way the stubborn points still stuck up. He couldn’t think what had the demon so upset.

“You stupid bastard!”

“I _beg_ your pardon?” He felt almost as affronted as he sounded. “I haven’t done anything to deserve that!” 

“ _I_ need you! I’ve always needed you! Even before I read your ssstupid poetry and all your letters.” Aziraphale felt his stomach drop.

“My letters?”

“Mine now. My name’s on ‘em, and your name is on me. Please Angel, don’t leave me.” The last was spoken in a whisper that nearly shattered Aziraphale’s heart.

“Never, I’ll never leave you.” He held Crowley close, moving his hand down to rub calming circles on the taller being’s back. “Now come sit down, and tell me how the hell you got your hands on my letters.”

“Nuh.”

“Crowley-” He felt his stomach slowly return to its proper place, Crowley was no longer distraught, and he certainly had no need to continue holding Aziraphale, and yet...he hadn’t let go.

“Nope, you gotta call me properly.” 

What the devil was that supposed to mean? The angel thought for a moment.

“Anthony?” He’d called Crowley that sometimes in public, when he couldn’t control his jealousy and had to drop subtle hints to the humans that _he_ was the one who knew the demon best.

“Eugh.”

“Ashtoreth?” He gasped softly as Crowley’s lips grazed his neck, the lithe frame leaning into him.

“Mm maybe later.”

What had the demon’s other names been? He’d had a few over the millennia. Aziraphale took a moment to think, absently stroking down Crowley’s spine as the demon held him. The answer fell into his heart, like the first rain had pattered along his skin and wings. Letters. Crowley had read his letters, and in those...

“Oh...Darling, please sit with me.” He found himself on the couch in an instant and frowned at the lanky demon curling up next to him. “There was no need to use a miracle, I thought we’d agreed-”

“You agreed. I just nodded along.” Aziraphale’s protest died in his throat as Crowley leaned against him, twining their fingers together, the way they had held hands on the bus That Night. He turned his attention to the demon’s face and blinked in surprise as he realized the glasses that usually adorned the lovely aquiline nose were absent. 

“Dearest, why…” He had so many questions. Why had Crowley read the letters? Why had he appeared looking so afraid? Why had he demanded to be called by the endearments Aziraphale had kept locked in his heart for so long?

“Adam. He left me the letters, I was reading ‘em. S’why I was away so long.” Golden eyes flicked over to meet his gaze then darted away. “In one, you said not to off myself ‘cause you needed me. Loved me. And then...in the latest one you said no one needed you and…” It was a bit of a leap, but Crowley had always had a knack for noticing small things and tying them to larger pattern. 

“Ah.” He remembered the first letter in question, and the last one was still fresh in his memory. “I admit, perhaps all those years ago if I had thought no one needed me...I might have-” he waved a hand in the general direction of the circle he’d been about to scrub out of his floor, twitching a little at the way Crowley’s grip on him tightened; he turned to take the demon’s hand in both of his, smiling softly “-but now, after everything we’ve accomplished, that you’ve helped me understand about humans, the world and myself...I would rather try to find purpose elsewhere.” He was blushing, he could tell, his corporation’s skin feeling tight and hot.

“I’m still miffed you just...read them, willy nilly, but I’m glad you still cared enough about me to make sure I was alright.” He couldn’t help a soft squeak as suddenly he was pressed against the couch, Crowley looming over him, eyes furious and gleaming.

“Still cared?! You ridiculous bassstard! I’ve loved you for millennia! Of course I didn’t want you to fucking dissscorporate!” Long clever fingers cupped his face. “I’ve spent the past week reading how much you love me and trying to figure out how the blazes I never saw it, busy as I was looking at you.”

“Oh.”

“Yesss. Oh.”

Aziraphale swallowed, feeling heat pool in his stomach at the way Crowley’s pupils widened. “So, if I were to ask you to kiss me?” He bit his lip as the demon leaned in, nuzzling his neck.

“I’d say you need to tell me where, angel.” 

He shouldn’t press, he knew that. The whole thing was too new, too fragile...but he’d been waiting so long…

“And...and if I asked you to stay with me?” 

Crowley froze and Aziraphale panicked. Had he ruined it all? Of course he had. He was a terrible angle and a worse partner, he’d known that for centuries-

“I’d ask...for how long.” Crowley’s voice was a low rasp, and he hid his face against Aziraphale’s neck. The angel wanted to take it back, to apologize...and he would not. He loved Crowley, wanted him to have, to hold and protect, to love and cherish above all others, even the Lord.

“If I said forever?” His vision was suddenly blocked by those beautiful eyes and then he was being kissed so thoroughly he worried he might faint, something he hadn’t done since that time he’d been taken as a slave in the desert. The heat was similar, but instead of smothering it warmed him from top to toes. He whined as his demon pulled back, barely breathing the words against his lips.

“Then I’d say you have me.” Aziraphale leaned up to nip Crowley’s lower lip, kissing it gently in mild apology.

“Then I have what I wanted all along.” He would need to send Adam a thank you gift, or perhaps a note about privacy and the invasion thereof. The thought melted as Crowley kissed him again, those lovely long fingers tugging and teasing until they could slither under his waistcoat and shirt. 

Well, perhaps simply a gift.


End file.
